Saturday, October 10, 2009

I attended Fairview Elementary from kindergarten to 3rd grade. On a recent rainy Friday afternoon I retraced my steps. The 1.75-mile walk to school was shorter than I remember.

Jay, Rob, Dad and Mike in our living room on 8th Avenue in the Fairview section of Chicopee in 1972.

Our house. It was a bit different in 1971. We didn't have the garage. Or second floor. No deck. No pool. It was a small house back then. But big enough for us.

We had some interesting neighbors. Mrs. Ouimet lived here, I think. I used to knock on her door and ask for candy. She always had a bowl close by like she was expecting me.

Turning the corner I made my way to school. There was a deaf kid who lived on 9th St. I would pal around with him from time to time. He had a hearing aid that he said didn't help him. And it made a high-pitched noise that he said he couldn't hear.

I would pass "Ronnie Radio Man" on my way. He was mentally retarded. He was often sitting on a chair in the front yard listening to the radio. I would chat with him but he would only smile at me.

Crossing Montcalm St., I made my way to the sidewalk. We didn't have crossing guards.

Faith United Methodist church. I would attend Cub Scout meetings in the basement here. I didn't keep up with the Scouts. I think I quit after the first or second meeting.

Just about halfway there. It was raining. During walks to school in the rain I would get drenched. Teachers would often want us to put our wet clothes on the heater. I kept my wet pants on till they dried.

School pool is closed for the season. State pool on Memorial Drive has been filled in, but School pool lives on! To the left is the fence of a new condo complex.

I learned to swim here. The pool is in great condition and was recently featured in a WWLP story.

This building once housed a variety store. All Star, I believe it was called. I would buy pixie sticks, Mike and Ikes, Sugar Babies, hot balls.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

My dad was knocked overboard when a hose became loose during a refueling effort.

I found this edition of the Springfield Rifle in a photo album that belonged to my grandmother. I've heard this story and had seen the article but this version of the Springfield Rifle was in plastic and pristine.

Off The Shelf: The Finest Hours by Michael J. Tougias and Casey Sherman

From Booklist: In a 1952 nor’easter, the distress of two ships off Cape Cod initiated a dramatic Coast Guard operation recounted here by coauthors Tougias and Sherman. Both vessels were World War II surplus, cheaply built, unwisely kept in service, and broken in two by the storm. All four halves floated, for the moment, and the authors’ narrative accordingly tracks four separate search-and-rescue efforts that form the complete story. The most prominent, in the press at the time and in official honors conferred afterward, concerned one motorized lifeboat, a puny 36 feet long and manned by four men, dispatched to do battle with the maelstrom’s towering waves. This is the seascape of The Perfect Storm, and the authors do justice to the peril in a tight account of the action. Plotting the course of CG36500, the utilitarian name of the lifeboat captained by Bernie Webber (interviewed for this book), Tougias and Sherman reach their peak of tension in the sink-or-swim moments when mariners abandoned ship and chanced their lives on their rescuers’ skill and bravery. An excellent entry in the disaster-at-sea genre. --Gilbert Taylor

A collision of memories, time and space

Our focus is on Western Massachusetts. Our postings are mostly of common images that folks might come across in their everyday journeys. Wall graffiti, lampposts, ticket booths, street scenes, wildlife, forests and discarded objects are regular themes.
We started blogging with a focus on the history of our families and how the places they have lived evolved over time. We are most interested in how the past and present collide and launching the reader into a place where memories of prior experiences and places mingle with their everyday lives.
-- Bob Genest